


never felt so close

by wherechester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bunker Fluff, Castiel in the Bunker, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed, cas doesn’t know appropriate sleeping practices, cas is HOT y’all, dean is a fucking puddle of softness, fluff is all I write
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 08:26:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14101386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wherechester/pseuds/wherechester
Summary: Dean wakes up every morning fucking burning alive. Sweat peppers his forehead and pools in the dip of his lower back. His shirt clings onto his chest with sticky fingers. And arms that Dean is convinced have some sort of biological internal heater are wrapped around him. A firm fist is intertwined in his black t-shirt. Breath that he is pretty damn sure belongs to a dragon puffs intermittently against his neck.





	never felt so close

**Author's Note:**

> hello all. ya girl is on a roll. here’s another. bed sharing bullshit. you know the drill. 
> 
> find me on tumblr @ wherechester

Dean wakes up every morning fucking burning alive. Sweat peppers his forehead and pools in the dip of his lower back. His shirt clings onto his chest with sticky fingers. And arms that Dean is convinced have some sort of biological internal heater are wrapped around him. A firm fist is intertwined in his black t-shirt. Breath that he is pretty damn sure belongs to a dragon puffs intermittently against his neck. 

Cas is a fucking pain to share a bed with. The guy is a literal furnace. Dean doesn’t know if it’s the whole angel-celestial-ground-shaking-energy thing that allows Cas to exude so much body heat. He really doesn’t fucking know, but he does know the little shit clings to him for dear life, and Dean fucking melts. Not in the endearing way either. 

The whole sharing a bed with Cas thing was exhilarating and charming at first, because Dean has been making eyes at the poor guy for over eight years now. Or is it nine? Dean isn’t sure. But now, now that Castiel has taken to crawling in bed with Dean nearly every night for the past five months, there are a few qualms. 

First of all, Cas is strange. And with this strangeness comes the idea that it’s perfectly appropriate to go to bed clad in trench coat and all. He squirms and kicks Dean in the shins with his dress shoes and, “Jesus fucking Christ Cas, have you never heard of pajamas?” After a few nights, Dean and his bruised shins can’t take it anymore, and thus he eventually shoves a Wal-Mart bag overflowing with pajama pants and a package of assorted t-shirts into Cas’ chest. “Wear this. Please. And for god’s sake Cas, take off your fucking shoes.” 

After the bruises on Dean’s shins have begun to change to the sickly yellow color that can only signify healing, they encounter another problem. Cas doesn’t fucking sleep. He can will himself to sometimes, meditation or some sort of trance, whatever Cas does to zone out. But usually, the guy doesn’t sleep. And when he’s not sleeping, he’s watching Dean with those stupidly beautiful and intense eyes. Dean thinks Cas is stunning, he really does. But fuck if he can get any sleep when he feels the gaze of a several million year old creature boring into his skull. 

It’s endearing, it really is, that Cas finds Dean interesting enough to observe so intently. It’s kind of sweet in a way that makes Dean’s stomach lurch. But also a way that makes his head pound the next morning after restlessly tossing and turning all night because he can feel Cas staring at him. “Cas, buddy, please if you can’t sleep or whatever, could you just pretend? I’m glad you find me so easy on the eyes, but hell if you can’t stare a guy into oblivion.” Cas had made that soft sound, like he does when something makes perfect sense. “Of course Dean. I can pretend.” 

And so he does. Crisis averted, because now Cas just pushes his way into Dean’s space, close enough that he couldn’t stare at Dean properly even if he wanted to. But alas, as one crisis is avoided, another always arises. Because that’s just how Dean’s life works. A guy can’t win around here. 

Cas resulting to eliminating any sense of personal space between them at night brings the heat. And like Dean said, Cas is fucking sweltering. Even stripped down to one layer. Hell, he’s still a furnace when he’s in his birthday suit. Dean has experienced that first hand as well. 

But now, as Dean lays with sweat beading in his hair, he can’t possibly tell the angel to sleep in his own bed. Not now. Not after he’s had him. Because there’s fans, and air conditioners, and cool sides of the pillow. There’s also naps and coffee and years of living on four hours of sleep. Dean would never turn him away, couldn’t turn him away. 

Dean steals a glance at his own personal heater, and his heart nearly climbs out of his throat. That wonderful head of dark hair is tickling Dean’s nose, and those ancient hands are stretching out his t-shirt, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Later that day, Dean invests in a couple of fans. And hopes that the fire that is Castiel continues to burn next to him every night, as long as the universe will allow him.


End file.
